Lady Macbeth
by Dlvvanzor
Summary: Light suddenly understood.  This must be what going mad was like.  At least it explained why his mirror was failing to mirror him.  Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: I'm sure this has been done. But **_**I**_** haven't done it, so here we go! XD Also, this is supposed to be vague, so if you find it vaguely written I'd actually be happy, lol.**

**Happy St. Patrick's day! And for me, it's spring break! WOOOO! I can write again!**

* * *

It wasn't Light's idea.

He slammed his bathroom door behind himself, locking it automatically as he lurched towards the toilet.

He retched.

Gasping, stomach roiling, skull compressing, he put his head down. Normally he would be appalled. After all, he was kneeling on a bathroom floor and resting his forehead on a toilet seat. Any other day, he would already be thinking about the bacteria invading him.

Not today.

He pressed himself up from off the floor, groaning as his vomiting muscles protested shrilly. He had been throwing up the whole way home. But, to be fair, he had now killed two people.

He briefly paid another tribute to the porcelain god at the thought. Not that the thought had ever really gone away.

He heaved himself to his feet again.

Two human beings, dead, because of him. Both criminals, both _scum_, one holding children hostage in a school and the other trying to rape an innocent girl on the street, but two human beings nonetheless. And now they weren't anymore.

Now they were just corpses. Bodies that he had left where they fell without even an apology. The first one, yeah, that could be a coincidence. The second one could be a coincidence, too. But not both of them together.

He staggered over to the sink and flicked on the water, cupping his hands and watching them fill. He was almost surprised that the liquid was clear. It should have been blood.

"What am I, Lady Macbeth?" he mumbled, conveying the water (and it _was_ water, not blood) in his hands to his mouth, swishing around, and spitting. He did it three more times before the salty taste of bile started to diminish to a tolerable level, then he splashed his face.

Dripping, hairline also wet because he was too tired to care exactly where he aimed the water aside from the general area of his face, he put a hand on either side of the sink and leaned heavily on his shaking arms, staring into the mirror.

He expected to look different. Shouldn't his hair have turned white from shock? Or maybe black with sin? Shouldn't he look gaunt and sick and pale? Shouldn't _something_ have changed? Shouldn't there be some kind of physical manifestation of the fact that he had just done the worst thing a person can do? Committed the worst sin...

There had to be some sign of it. Accordingly, he searched his eyes- no guilt. No guilt? Granted, he had been hiding his emotions every day for the last seventeen years, so maybe he had just gotten to the point where even _he_ couldn't read himself anymore.

Physical pain, though, was something he happened across more rarely, and he didn't have the practice hiding it. There was none of that in his eyes either, and there should have been.

He stared for a long time until he realized that his reflection wasn't blinking.

...And that when he took a step back, the image got further away accordingly, but his face was now contorted in fear and the face in the mirror... wasn't.

With sudden clarity, he understood. This is what going mad must be like. This _must_ be going mad. He had killed two people, and now he was paying the price. Suddenly calm (madness sounded nice at this point, and at least it explained why his mirror was failing to mirror him), he was about to turn away when he found himself saying, "Going somewhere?"

He whipped around and saw that his reflection was now grinning. He put his fingers to touch his lips (the reflection followed that motion) and discovered that he really _was_ grinning. This was odd, because he hadn't told his face to grin.

Still looking, fingers still at his lips, he saw and felt his mouth move to form, "Lady Macbeth? Really? You're Japan's best student and you can't think of anything more original?"

Light froze. He slowly put his hand down, as did his reflection.

"Who are you?" Light asked, his voice quivering.

"I'm Light Yagami." He grinned. "Who are _you?"_

"You can't be. _I'm_ Light Yagami."

"Wrong."

Light frowned. His reflection didn't. "My name is Light!"

Light's reflection smiled, cocked his head, and used Light's favorite technique, the one he had used on countless people over the course of his life to get what he wanted by forcing _them_ to speak- he didn't say another word.

Finally Light burst out, "Then who are you?"

"I'm the reflection of you."

"Then you're Light."

"Did I not say that?"

"But _I'm _Light."

"You're _not._"

Light blinked at his reflection. Was this what it was like for other people trying to talk to_ him_ every day? Running laps around them for no reason other than the power play? Light smirked, then, pleased with himself for figuring it out. He gave his reflection a superior sort of look and said, as if humoring him, "Who _am_ I, then?" Lazily, he picked up a hair brush and started his grooming ritual, noticing with mild interest that his reflection was doing the same thing.

The reflection smirked back, and for a moment the two agreed on a facial expression. "Kira."

Light dropped the brush, which fell with a clatter into the sink, knocking the hand soap bottle down with it. Kira.

_Killer._

"I am _not_," he said in a rush. "I'm not."

The reflection raised an eyebrow. "Then you believe yourself to be innocent?"

"I didn't know what I was doing! I just... I thought it was a joke, I-"

"It's not _that_," Light's reflection scoffed. "Stop being _simple."_

Light had literally never been called simple before, and he stared in stunned silence.

_"_Good people are forced to kill all the time," the reflection continued. "It's not that you killed two people, although that certainly lends itself to the situation... it's _you_."

"...What?"

"_You_ are Kira."

"My _name_ is Light!" he insisted

"Light," the reflection said lazily, examining a fingernail, "is me. He is honest, gentle, and intelligent." The voice turned mocking. "He is going to waste his scientific talents by becoming a police officer in order to fight for justice in the footsteps of his honorable father, his hero. He is sweet to his mother and always happily helps his baby sister with her math homework. As Japan's top student, Light studies hard for several hours every day, makes sure he eats right and gets plenty of sleep, and goes jogging around his cookie-cutter neighborhood. He is an upstanding example of a handsome, virginal, heterosexual young man who is destined to marry a beautiful, dim but kind woman and have 1.5 children."

"Exactly," Light hissed.

"Bullshit," his reflection replied happily.

"Now I _know_ you're not me. I never use such language."

"Liar. Everything _about_ you is a lie. You are not honest, which I thank you for proving. The two people you recently murdered would attest to your _gentleness_. You are _not_ simply 'intelligent.' Instead, you are off the charts and you've made damn sure no one knows it because you know they'd demand things from you. You are becoming a police officer to suck up to your father, nothing more. Your father is not your hero- a narcissist can hold no one above themselves. You hate your mother for being slow-witted and... _so blind_. Your sister's incessant pleadings for your aid are the bane of your existence, and as Japan's top student you have not studied a day in your life. It is all a part of the façade. You rarely eat, you never sleep, and the day you actually start an exercise routine will be the day there is a gun to your head. You were not handsome until you were fifteen, and you have never forgotten when you looked like the fat, bald hamster crossed with a greasy cactus. You are the farthest thing possible from a virginal, heterosexual young man destined to marry and have children with _anyone, _let alonea beautiful, dim but kind _woman_."

Light shifted. "Fine," he relented eventually. "_Maybe_. But that doesn't mean I'm like Kira."

"For the first time since this conversation began, your brilliance is showing, Kira," the reflection said genially. "You're right. You are _not_ 'like' Kira." His voice dropped. "Because, of course, you _are_ Kira."

"My _name_ is Light!" he insisted.

The reflection's words were coming faster now. "Kira is cold. Manipulative, a perfect liar, dripping with charisma that actually rivals his brilliance. Arrogant, angry, and wildly insecure. He craves power and adoration. He will do anything to get what he wants."

"That's not-"

"Are you not cold? Did you cry when your own father was in the hospital, shot, and it was believed he would not survive?"

"Shock. I was just... shock can make you-"

"Can you not manipulate _anyone_ you so chose? How many people have you lied to, flirted with, _fucked_, to direct their actions in a way you desired?"

"It's human nature to try to control other-"

"Maybe, but you are an arrogant son of a bitch."

"...I won't argue with that one."

"Then, have you never been angry before?"

"Of _course_ I've been angry, I'm _human_ and-"

"Insecure?"

"I spent the first 15 years of my life looking like, _quoth_ _my own reflection_, 'a fat, bald hamster crossed with a greasy cactus.' My mother cried when I was born. Forgive me if I'm a little -"

"Would you turn down the opportunity to rule the world? If you could make it any way you want?"

"I'd... want to make it _better_ and-"

"So that people would adore you?"

"But-"

"Have you never wanted to _kill_ someone, Kira?"

"_My name is Light."_

"Everything I've said is true. Every word. This is me, and this is you. You have always been Kira- there is no other way for you to be."

"You're just my reflection."

"You're _mine_."

"I'm..."

"Kira."

"_No_, I'm _Light_... I..."

"You are cold. Manipulative, a perfect liar, dripping with charisma that actually rivals your brilliance. Arrogant, angry, and wildly insecure. You crave power and adoration. You will do anything to get what you want. This is Kira, Kira is Light, Light is me, and I am you."

"No..."

"So now tell me, Reflection. Who are you?"

The air rushed out of the boy's lungs and his knees gave out, dropping him to the floor. He landed on his shins, hard, but he didn't feel the pain.

His eyes were dull, dead, like those of his reflection.

Then, ever so slightly, he smiled.

"I'm Kira."


End file.
